On Devil's Wings
by Clez
Summary: Special Agents Sawyer and Finn are sent to New York City to investigate murders, commited by a new kind of mysterious killer who is tearing out throats... what kind of dangers await them, and can they solve the case before it's too late?
1. Part One

**Author's Note:** This was my Ficathon entry for livejournal, on the LXG fan fiction community. Took me quite a while to write, and I've decided to put it on here, but staggered. It measured in at seventeen A4 pages when finished, so it won't be that long, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless… I'm even contemplating continuing this as a series. Anyway; let me know what you think. This story also has its own page on my website, in case you're curious as to 'casting', etc.

* * *

Stepping down from the horse drawn carriage, the boots landed firmly and confidently on the solid streets of New York City, pausing for a moment as the man gazed around him, before he strode to confirm with the driver that their fee had been paid. The second passenger was not long in following, practically bounding energetically from the transport, gazing here and there with an optimistic smile and a light in his eyes.

The driver tipped his hat in farewell, and he and his four horses were soon on their way, leaving the two men amidst a somewhat bustling Tuesday afternoon crowd, who eyed them only briefly before remembering their daily affairs and appointments. They had travelled by carriage for days, sent from Washington on government business. Not long in the field, the two young Americans were bright, intelligent and fresh, admiring New York for a few more moments.

"Driver said our hotel's just across the street there," said the first, pointing casually with his left hand. He was undoubtedly the taller of the two, with a fairer appearance. Also younger than his companion by a couple of years, he had blonde locks of shaggy hair that tumbled freely around his boyish face, ending at the brow, ears and middle of his neck respectively. Set under a light brow were keen eyes, green in colour with subtle flecks of hazel. The young man was smart, with a planning mind, and his gaze bore the evidence of that. Special Agent Thomas 'Tom' Sawyer looked to his companion in query.

Being the shorter of the two, the second man had to turn his gaze upward, brown, soothing eyes intent and intelligent. He had dark, almost mahogany hair to match, which fell lazily about his brow. It ticked his ears and neck, but lacked the casual curl of his blonde companion's hair. The older of the two, the only evidence was in the subtle lines of his face, and the sometimes sharp edge to either his voice or his eyes. He was handsome, like his fellow traveller, but his attraction was somewhat more mature. His face was youthful yet not so boyish. Special Agent Huckleberry 'Huck' Finn nodded laconically. "We'd best get checked in."

The two agents of the American Secret Service were dressed in similar attire; Sawyer and Finn both in dark pants – the former in grey, and the latter in black – with white shirts tucked in somewhat hastily at the waist, in the manner of reluctant schoolboys almost. Black, tough boots covered their feet. Sawyer wore a black, unbuttoned waistcoat over his shirt, and suspenders hung down the sides of his pants, unused. Finn's were over his shoulders and he lacked the over-jacket. Topping off their 'uniforms' were dark ankle-length cloth jackets, and broad-peaked black hats.

Over their shoulders were large travelling satchels filled with the essentials – including things like files and notebooks. Hidden in the long bags were their larger weapons, whereas the small, regulation six-shooters were holstered on the bodies. Finn's were at his hips, and Sawyer's were at his waist, hung in a kind of gunslinger harness.

They strode in unison towards their hotel, similarly-strategic minds going over what their superiors had told them of their assignment here in the city. There was promise of adventure and action; the threat of danger. There was already a mystery.

Sawyer and Finn had come to solve a murder case.

* * *

Tom Sawyer leaned back against the wall near the window overlooking the now-quieting street, and chewed pensively on an apple. They had had some simple food sent up to them, too eager to get underway to bother with any heavy meals. Huck Finn lay on his back on the bed, feet – minus boots obviously; they were rebellious but not rude after all – up against the top of the head board as he hummed, a newspaper over his face, eyes scanning the words printed there.

Tom shifted in his position, one foot up flat against the wall behind him as he thought, turning his apple over and around in his hand before he subconsciously bit into it again. He stared down at the 'witness' accounts again, sighed quietly, and swallowed, before saying, "I don't know about you, but it seems to me that nobody's _seen_ much of _anything_." Shrugging, he glanced to Huck, whose eyes never left the articles. "I mean… I can understand that's why they ain't caught him yet but… _five_ murders and nobody's seen a thing!" Shaking his head, he furrowed his brow and added darkly, "Just don't seem right to me."

"Well of course it don't," laughed Huck gently from his place of contemplation. "Why, if it weren't a mystery, we wouldn't _be_ here, now, would we, Tom?" A cheeky smile flashed for a moment in which Tom rolled his eyes with his own smirk. Huck was always one to put a spin on things like that; making something out of nothing.

Huck rolled over on the mattress, hearing it creak slightly under his rather light weight, and sighed, sitting up as he asked curiously, "So… run it by me. What exactly do we know?" He held the newspaper loosely in one hand, ensuring the pages didn't tumble all over the floor in a mess.

"Okay," Tom began carefully, moving away from the wall with a light shove of his boot and starting to pace, as was a habit when pensive. "We've got five murders. Three women; two men. All under the age of forty, and with no particular pattern. The victims weren't rich enough for them to be killed for profit. There've been no eye witnesses, only the people who discovered the bodies, all of which have had their throats practically torn away, with severe blood loss." He paused for a moment, hand running over his jaw and up and down his face for a moment, before he continued, "Murderer could be either male or female, relating to the mixture of victims, and we're not even certain what kind of weapon was used in the killings."

"Exactly," Huck concurred.

"And _in fact_," Tom added abruptly, turning around and pointing with the file in his hand, now closed, "on three occasions, the medical examiner has stated that the wounds may have even been inflicted by some kind of wild animal, they were so feral."

Huck pointed back with the hand absent of the daily newspaper and chuckled lightly. "_Now_ you're talkin'!"

"So the question now is…"

"What's the plan of action?" Huck nodded thoughtfully, and furrowed his brow as he mumbled to himself, taking to pacing the room as well, weaving in and out of the two beds as if in a maze, before he turned back to Tom. "Not much for it but to get out there and investigate first hand." He waved his finished newspaper lightly in the air. "There's only so much we're gonna learn from clippings and reports, right?"

Tom nodded, and listened as the older spy continued, "We'll speak with the local police, and see what we can get outta them, and if that's no good, then we'll head to the medical examiner and see what we can find out there. Tryin' to track down some of the witnesses wouldn't be a bad idea, either."

Again, there was a sharp movement of Tom's head that showed he approved of Huck's logic, something that was ever-advancing in their work. Tom had always been the thinker and planner as a child, whereas Huck had followed his lead; now that they were older, they shared the responsibility. Huck tended to take the lead more often than not, and Tom had no qualms with that. He was all for giving him the respect and position he deserved as the oldest.

"Right," Tom began, "so… shall we?"

Huck flashed him an eager grin, and grabbed his boots, tossing the newspaper onto the bed to prepare. Tom chuckled, and followed his example.

* * *

The streets of New York weren't altogether unwelcoming, but there was a certain awkward air about the city that made the two southern spies a little… uncomfortable. It showed in their movements, and they hoped they didn't look too out of place. They had just come from the police station around the corner, where they had discovered little more than they already knew. They had been told the locations of the murders, pinpointed; in the reports they had been given, place names and positions had been vague, so they were thankful for that at least.

Heading to the medical examiner's – and hoping he was still available; it was nearing nine – the two were quiet. Their hats were angled on their heads slightly to cast somewhat mysterious shadows across their faces, and both looked equally pensive. Huck strode beside his best friend, and cocked his head slightly, brows furrowing as he mused.

_They don't seem to have any clue as to who's doin' this either… which isn't comforting at all. Thought they might have had **some** suspicions by now; if only one or two. Unless they're not telling us… which could very well be the case._ With a frown, he sighed quietly. _Damn_.

He and Tom were both as silent as one another, and looked to their respective sides to their companion frequently, as if trying to fathom what was being considered in the mind. Huck knew very well that Tom Sawyer had a very strategic mind, and he was probably already trying to sort through plans of action. On top of that, Tom had a mind for mystery.

_Solvin' a crime at seventeen will do that for a man, I s'pose_, he thought to himself. Huck sighed lightly. He had never been much of a thinker, but he liked to think he had a good head on his shoulders regardless of that. He knew what he was doing, and just when and how to do a great many things… but thinking things through really was the younger spy's area. Huck supposed he was fine with that. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with backing down to Tom's instinctual awareness, as it were, but Huck did wish that sometimes _he_ could make the plans. It had always somehow made him feel younger than Tom.

It didn't take them long to reach the office and workplace of the medical examiner, and they knocked lightly on the door. The hour was pushing on, and they didn't mean to be a bother, but with a murderer on the loose, there really wasn't any time to be wasted, they knew. If it meant being forward and even a little rude, then that was the price they would have to pay.

They waited at that doorstep, hands in their pockets, and Huck supposed the two of them must have looked quite shady… rather mysterious; dressed mostly in black, and knocking on this door at such a late time. Shrugging lightly and almost unnoticeably under his jacket, he turned his head as the door unlocked and opened somewhat for a voice to call through, "Who's there?"

"Agents Finn and Sawyer, sir. We're here in New York investigating the recent murders," Huck responded in the most official voice he could muster. Tom was silent and pensive by his side.

The man waited, light eyes peering at them through the gap in the door. Huck rolled his eyes discreetly, and shoved his hand into his inner pocket carefully, nodding to Tom for him to do the same. Together, the young men withdrew official badges of their positions and showed them to the medical examiner, who seemed to quirk a brow curiously, before he opened the door all the way.

"You'll have to excuse me if I seem paranoid," he laughed nervously, and waved for them to enter. "Had a lot of suspicion goin' around this area recently; I'm sure you understand."

The two agents entered one after the other, drawing their hats from their heads and giving them to the man as he offered to take them, and hang them by the door. They kept their jackets though, somehow comforted by the mild warmth they supplied. As one, they followed the man as he continued to speak, "So, police finally realised they haven't got the facilities to solve this one themselves, have they?"

Huck smiled wryly, and mumbled, "Somethin' like that." Clearing his throat, he persisted, "So, Mr. Lancaster… you worked on all five… victims?"

The medical examiner, one Sebastian Lancaster, nodded vehemently, his greying hair barely moving an inch atop his head. He turned his head to them as he walked, obviously leading them to his workspace as he replied, "Yes, yes, I did. Nasty business." Shaking his head, he sighed sorrowfully and grimaced slightly. "New method, this one, from the looks of it. Never quite seen anythin' like it."

Tom and Huck looked to one another with furrowed brows, even as Lancaster pushed open the doors to his morgue. The smell of chemicals hit the two spies at once, but they forced back the expressions that attested to such a fact, and swallowed their disgust, striding as confidently as they could behind the doctor. There were medical tables, much like metallic beds, lined up near the walls. Some of these were covered in neat white sheets, no doubt covering the bodies of the recently deceased. Huck took in as deep a breath as he dared wit h the smell, and braced himself for what they would undoubtedly see.

Lancaster looked to them. "Don't think you two will have seen anythin' quite like this before… might wanna brace yourselves." Seeing their gazes, he quickly added, "Just saying. Don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he pulled back the sheet on one of the bodies, revealing a form so pale they were almost blending with the very cloth that covered them. It was a man, the first of the five victims, they knew, recognisable from the reports they had been given. With dark hair and eyes – though these were closed now – he had been a man of some thirty years, working at a local merchant's, doing nothing more than menial labour. He had earned little in the way of money, and therefore had been an odd candidate for attack. More often than not, it was the wealthy who were set upon for monetary value. Perhaps that was why these poor people had been killed. He was bare of clothing, for medical purposes, but Lancaster kept the sheet up from the waist down, so that it covered everything below the torso. They could clearly see the fatal wounds in the neck… they were impossible to miss. Ghastly tearing showed how the man had died, and Huck swallowed dryly, glancing once to a rather quiet and disgusted-looking Tom, before meeting Lancaster's gaze. "How much blood did he lose?" he asked quietly, as though he would offend with too much volume.

"All five victims were nigh on exsanguinated, Agent Finn," Lancaster responded sincerely and gravely. "What little blood was left in the body… was nearly undetectable." Lancaster shook his head grimly. "The worst one was the young girl, the most recent of the victims. But we found that her wounds weren't as unsightly as the others'."

Huck had been grimacing at the blood loss, before this last fact intrigued both his partner and himself. They turned their gazes to the medical examiner, and he led them to another table after covering the man's body. He peeled back the sheet slightly to reveal the head, neck and shoulders of a woman no older than the two agents themselves. Her black hair fell back against the table like a funeral shroud, and her complexion was ghostly. But Lancaster was right… the wounds to her neck were far smaller and neater. If anything, they were closer to _animal bites_ than a knife or something of the sort. Huck furrowed his brow.

"Have attacks from wild animals been ruled out yet?" he asked curiously, to which Lancaster nodded.

"Yes, Agent Finn, sir," he confirmed. "That was our first suspicion. We spoke with everyone necessary to rule that out, and nothing capable of such savage injuries has been reported. This is the work of a very particular kind of creature."

"A man," Tom murmured then, and it was rather darkly that he did so, looking to Huck and Lancaster from his place further towards the end of the 'bed'.

Lancaster nodded, but there was a kind of ominous air to it that made Huck uncomfortable. "Yes," the doctor mumbled in response. "A man… or some kind of _devil_…"

* * *

Back at their hotel, Huck and Tom were still awake, though they knew they should get some sleep soon, if only a little. It was nearing two now. Huck kept playing with his pocket watch as he thought. Tom sat at the small desk near the window, head in his hands as he stared down at the reports again. All the words were starting to blend together annoyingly, and he gave a grumble and a yawn.

"You should get some sleep," Huck observed from the bed where he was seated, cross-legged, on his blankets, looking through the paperwork Lancaster had been kind enough to loan to them. He had claimed to have it all copied audibly to phonograph, so the papers were available to them for study for a while.

"I'm fine," Tom mumbled in response. His muscles were getting a little stiff though, he noticed, and he moved his shoulders awkwardly, hearing one crack. He winced, and stood from the chair. "This is so frustrating," he murmured, rubbing his eyes as he stared out of the window, over the rooftops of their corner of New York.

Seeing his partner's reflection in the mirror, he noticed Huck's nod as he snapped the somewhat scuffed silver pocket watch shut and slipped it into his pants' pocket. "Tom, get some rest. C'mon… we're not gettin' anywhere like this. We were travelling for a long time, and we're both tired. Go to bed." Huck wore a friendly and slanted smile as he spoke, which Tom turned to see, putting one hand in his own pocket as he observed his partner.

"Fine," he mumbled, and yawned again, gazing out of the window again. Narrowing his eyes for a moment, he switched off the lamp on the desk, before turning away, saying impassively, "Didn't know there were bats in New York…"

**_To Be Continued…_**


	2. Part Two

**Author's Note:** Thanks to those who read and reviewed Part One, and I'm glad you seemed to enjoy it. Here's the second part, and I thank you for your patience.

* * *

Huck and Tom both shot bolt upright in their beds at the sound of the scream, the latter nearly tumbling right onto the floor with the vehemence of his waking. Their eyes were wide, and as one, they look to each other, and then bolted out of bed, swiftly dressing and grabbing their weapons before hurrying out the door, even as another scream sounded… though it cut short.

They charged out of their hotel, coats flying out behind their legs as they ran swiftly in the direction of the screams, the two modified Winchester repeater rifles held in their hands as they moved. The weapons were identical, but prized to each agent, with a silver dollar in the stock of each. There was fine etch-work on the firing chambers, and to even the untrained eye, the guns were cared for meticulously. Polished and cleaned almost religiously, the two treated the weapons almost like extensions of their own arms rather than weapons.

Skidding around the corner of one of the streets, nearly slamming into one another _and_ a carriage, they apologised hastily to the irritated driver and his startled horse, before shooting off again, slowing to a halt at an alleyway. There were noises from within…

Tom's heart beat madly in his chest, his eyes slightly wide at first, and then narrowing as he listened keenly. He looked curiously to Huck, and as one, they cocked the rifles as quietly as possible. With only a moment's further hesitation, they levelled them and stepped into the alleyway.

They could see the definite silhouette of someone against the wall, with another figure before them. They were close in proximity to one another, but there was a frightening limpness to the first – and clearly female from the skirts – body; the way the arm seemed to sway lifelessly beside the body as the man moved slightly. It seemed he either hadn't heard their entrance, or cared very little. He barely flinched, even with the two guns pointing at him.

"Whoever you are, step away slowly," Huck commanded, "and raise your arms."

Tom kept his eyes firmly on the target. It was undoubtedly a man. The build and height was unmistakable, and there was a power in the limbs that women were not known to have; this was obvious from the almost effortless way he kept the motionless body aloft as if she were standing of her own accord. Tom swallowed a little nervously, but steeled his resolve and commanded his nerves to follow suit. After a few moments, they obeyed.

The man made no move to obey Huck, which only irritated the older spy. Tom knew Huck well enough to know that his patience – while it was still rather expansive – was only a temporary affair. It would soon run out.

"Put her _down_," Huck practically growled, and Tom knew that if he hadn't have already done it, the shorter agent would have cocked his rifle as an extra incentive. Tom stayed quiet as usual, letting his partner do the verbal work. He simply kept his weapon perfectly trained on one of the man's shoulders should he try to escape. Tom didn't want to kill him; only impede.

With a somewhat dramatic sigh, the head of the man turned and lifted, and Tom thought he heard a kind of dripping noise… perhaps even a _sucking_ sound, and as the eyes gazed in their direction… there was an unmistakeable glint. Tom furrowed his brow.

_Trick of the light_, he told himself quickly, and tightened his grip on his weapon as the man stared. It was rather unnerving, with that gaze boring into them as it was, and for a moment, he almost hesitated, feeling Huck by his side.

"Put her down, you say?" the man asked, and there was a noticeable lilt to his voice that suggested a European accent, though Tom couldn't place it. It seemed rather gentle, even suave… but carried an undertone of a sinister nature. "Very well…"

And with that, the man heaved the body and _hurled_ it at the two agents. They shouted in surprise, and the woman's lifeless form struck them and they stumbled back to the ground, scrambling out from under the body at once, and looking to her to see if she was alive.

There was no chance. She was as pale as death, and she had the wounds in her throat. She was dead. Tom looked up. The man chuckled throatily, and then briskly made his exit down the alley.

"Go after 'im!" Huck cried, still detaching himself from the body of the young woman.

Tom nodded abruptly, and scrambled to his feet, bolting down the alleyway, following the noises and trying to find the murderer. There was a distant laugh, and when he looked up, the man was silhouetted against the rooftops now, laughing dryly down at the spy, who lifted the barrel of his rifle, and fired a shot.

Somehow – he knew his aim had been perfect – the shot went wide, and the man was unscathed. Whilst Tom was trying to find how the criminal had made it up to the rooftops, there came a mad screeching, and the fluttering of wings. He looked up, only to see a swarm of _bats_ hurtling towards him. With a yell, he threw his arms over his head and doubled over, instinctively protecting his face and eyes from the small claws and teeth that tried to scrape at him. He felt them brush his hand, and winced slightly, but before long, they were gone, and he tentatively brought his head up, surprised and confused at the sudden and unexpected feral attack.

Tom quickly turned his gaze back up to the building's top… only to find the man was gone. Cocking his head and narrowing his eyes in bemusement, he looked left and right, finger never far from the trigger should he need to defend himself in a hurry.

But the man had disappeared.

Grumbling to himself, and thoroughly disappointed he had lost his target, he trudged back to meet up with Huck, who had gotten the attention of the local patrol, who were now on the scene and looking down at the body of the latest victim. With a sigh, he shook his head at Huck, who frowned.

"We'll get 'im next time," Huck promised with what would have been a mischievous light in his eyes had it not been for the dead woman at their feet. Tom looked down at her sorrowfully, and even a little guiltily, and then remembered his hand, when he felt the stinging. It was bleeding a little, and he quirked a brow.

"Bats aren't native to New York, are they?" he asked of no one in particular, noticing he received one or two odd looks for his seemingly out-of-place comment. He threw an apologetic gaze at them, and appreciated it when one of them told him the animals weren't normally seen, and if they were, it was rarely.

Keeping it to himself until they got back to the hotel, Tom wondered why there was suddenly a massive _cloud_ of them. There was no other way to describe it.

He had never seen anything like it.

* * *

Back at the hotel, now well into the early hours of the morning, Huck was sitting on the end of his bed, too alert to sleep; too busy thinking about what had happened a while ago to close his eyes and keep them that way. The sun was starting to rise on the distant horizon, and in a little over an hour, it would be light out. He turned his pocket watch over and over in his hand, and glanced to his left, where Tom lay with his back to Huck, seemingly asleep.

Without saying anything, Huck couldn't confirm his suspicions that the younger spy was awake also, so he just let Tom lie there, whether he was asleep or otherwise. The medical examiner had kindly bandaged Tom's cut hand with light gauze, puzzled over the presence of wild bats in the city, and in such a number as Tom had been forced to describe when asked about the light wound. He claimed he hadn't seen a weapon on the murderer, so everyone was a little thrown as to what could have happened.

Tom hadn't seen a weapon… neither had Huck. Either the murderer had been able to hide the blade so quickly they hadn't even seen it catch the light – like it had with the man's eyes – or he… really hadn't had one. But if he didn't have a blade, then what the hell had torn out the throats of the victims?

Huck groaned quietly, and strode softly over to the window after rising from the bed. As he moved past Tom, he looked down at him briefly, seeing that his friend was actually asleep… either that or he was pretending effectively. Then again, Tom Sawyer was a master of deception, so it could very well have been possible that he was awake and faking it.

Staring out of the window, he noticed there were a few people starting to wander the streets, off to start early jobs or simply walking around to fill time wherein they couldn't sleep, perhaps. Whatever the reason, Huck found himself watching the skyline. Tom had mentioned the man ended up on the rooftops somehow, and that was where he had lost sight of him.

Maybe when Tom woke up – if he was actually asleep; if he was, Huck was reluctant to wake him – Huck could get more sense out of him…

* * *

Tom looked to Huck, holding the coffee in his hands, and the toast in the other. It was a little after nine, and he felt somewhat guilty for sleeping in as he had. He was normally up around eight, if not before. He guessed that was Aunt Polly's influence sticking with him.

"We went over this," he sighed, eyeing the crisped bread, and wondering if he really had the appetite to eat it or not. After seeing that poor woman the night before, he was less than hungry. "I told you what happened."

"So tell me _again_," Huck urged gently. "It can't hurt to be clear on these things, can it?" He was browsing the daily articles once again, the report on the murder the previous night sketchy at best. Details had been – he guessed purposefully – missed, and there was little in the way of clarification. Luckily though, they hadn't been mentioned. They weren't here to get noticed by the press. It might complicate things if they got pursued by nosey civilians or reporters wanting a good story.

With another sigh, and a sip of coffee, Tom went over everything he could remember in full, careful not to miss anything out. He ensured to clarify all the details, and when he was done, he looked Huck square in the face. To the outsider, it may have appeared Huck hadn't been paying attention, when in reality, it was all a mask. Huck had heard every word clearly and exactly, and was calculating, as was his way.

"Right." Huck closed the paper, and eyed Tom in return, even as the younger spy laid the toast back on its plate, mostly untouched. Still holding his coffee in his unharmed hand, he looked back to his partner and friend, waiting for the continuation that he knew was coming; "So what do you make of it all?"

"What do _you_ make of it?" Tom countered with a slight smirk and a laugh, though it wasn't wholly humoured. "You're the one who wanted me to go through it all again for clarification."

"Well…" Huck began, carefully, as if contemplating at great length before a shrug heaved his shoulders up and down. "I can't make heads or tails of it."

Tom rolled his eyes, and put his coffee on the small table, before lazily slumping back on the bed. He bounced very slightly, and stared up at the ceiling, quietly going over the details in his mind.

_I can do this… I'm Tom Sawyer. I solved a crime when I was **seventeen**. What makes this one so different?_ With a frown, he cocked his head slightly. _There's no weapon… that's what's got you puzzled, ain't it? Well… let's think this through. What did you **see**? What did you **hear**? **Think**._

So he did. As thoroughly and vehemently as he could at nine in the morning, wracking his brains for clues and hints as to–

He sat up slowly on the bed, brow furrowed as if he didn't believe what he had come upon for himself. Huck seemed to notice, and took interest, eyeing his partner with curiosity and intrigue, eyebrows raising just a fraction in query. Tom simply sat there for a while, before he shook his head, laughed wryly and somewhat darkly, mumbling, "Nah… it's stupid. No way. It's not possible." He stood from his bed, and paced around, ending up staring out the window at the daily rush down below.

"Are you gonna keep me in suspense or do I have to _guess_?" Huck grumbled teasingly, and chuckled lightly.

Tom kept staring. He had heard stories; after all, he had grown up on the Mississippi, running around with some of the more 'colourful' characters in the area of Missouri, and he had heard quite a wide _variety_ of tales.

_But… c'mon, **really**…?_

His musings were cut short by the pillow that thumped into the back of his head, making him start, and grumble out, "Hey…" as he turned, laughing quietly at the mischievous impatience of his friend. Huck pulled a face that screamed 'well?' and Tom realised he had no choice but to voice his suspicion, no matter how far-fetched it might be.

"All right, but don't laugh, and don't say I didn't warn you how… strange this sounds." He felt a little awkward all of a sudden, as if he were on show with his opinions about to be thrown out in the open for scrutiny.

Huck settled on the bed as if he were preparing for a good old fashioned bedtime story, and Tom regarded him for a moment before he started to pace pensively, breaking into the beginnings of his far-fetched explanation, "Okay… you remember when we were about fifteen, and Ben Rogers stole that book from Mr. Spencer's house–"

"Though he says he didn't steal it…"

"Huck."

"Sorry." With a light shuffle and a clearing of the throat, he nodded. "Continue."

Tom almost laughed, and persisted as urged, "Anyhow… that book, if you remember, had been found in the library, and taken away on account of what was in it. All sorts of myths and legends about demons and 'blasphemous' creatures. I remember folks nearly had a heart attack when they heard about it."

Huck chuckled quietly, and nodded in recollection.

"I just got to rememberin' some of the legends _in_ that book for some reason as I was lyin' there, and… I can't help but think about one in particular." Looking to his friend meaningfully, he pressed on, voice darker and somewhat ominous at the edges as he said, "Creatures that tore into the throats of their victims; human in appearance save for the disguise of bats, with red eyes and fangs. Drinking the blood of the living, they carried on some poor semblance of life _themselves_."

Huck furrowed his brow, and leaned forward on the bed somewhat, looking his friend in the eyes squarely as he began hesitantly, "You're… not suggesting… what I _think_ you are… are you?"

Tom sat opposite the older spy, and looked right back at him sternly. "Think about it, Huck… the victims and their identities. They weren't anyone important, who'd be missed. They were lowlifes if you consider some of the people around here. The way their throats were torn… it all makes sense." Shaking his head gloomily, Tom persisted heavily, "Huck… a _vampire_."

Huck let out a slow and long breath. Eyes still narrowed, brow somewhat crinkled, he looked back to Tom and murmured a hasty; "You're sure?"

Tom knew he always had Huck's confidence in decisions, but he realised why this one was causing him so much trouble. "As sure as I _can_ be. I mean… a _vampire_? I don't know about you, but I've never even given 'em a second thought outside of stories and tales around camp fires at night, but… the way he got onto that roof, and vanished in that cloud of bats. I can't think of anythin' else to explain it, Huck."

After a while, his partner nodded. "You're right. There's nothin' else to cover all of it." Cocking his head and looking uncomfortable, he seemed rather conscious of something all of a sudden. "So _now_ what do we do? Like you said, we've never seen a vampire before, let alone _faced _one."

Tom stood from his perch again, and walked around the bed, looking out the window, wracking his brains for anything in that old book the 'Tom Sawyer Gang' had read through night after night that might be of some use to them now. "Stakes through the heart; chopping off the head… garlic; holy water; crucifixes and crosses. That's all I can remember."

"Well it's a heck of a lot more than _I_ remember, Tom, so it's worth quite a bit," Huck chuckled wryly.

Suddenly Tom turned from where he had been standing, gazing out the window, and his eyes were slightly wider. "Huck… I kinda wish I hadn't, but I just remembered somethin' else." Before his friend could say anything, Tom continued, "The whole part about a vampire 'turning' another; making _another_ vampire. The fifth victim! Her neck! It wasn't torn like the others. They were neat bite marks."

Huck's realisation set in fast, it seemed, and his eyes widened as well. "Oh, this ain't good, Tom… this is bad. If you're right, this is _bad_…"

"We've gotta get down there and check the body."

Huck nodded, and was already reaching for his coat by the time Tom had finished his sentence.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	3. Part Three

**Author's Note:** Thanks to those who read and reviewed Part Two. Means a lot. Glad you liked it, and here's Part Three. Part Four will be the last; nice, round, even number.

* * *

They practically skidded around all the corners, dove through the crowds and dodged carriages all the way to the medical examiner's office, too eager to get there to worry about irritating people on the way. Regardless of the dozens of angry glares they received on the way, the two almost tumbled onto the scene, shocked at what awaited them.

"Oh god, we're too late…" Tom shook his head, looking around at all the officers already present in and outside the building. There was a body outside the door… Lancaster. And his throat had been torn out.

Huck cursed quietly under his breath, and some of the officers turned their eyes in the direction of the two agents, almost accusingly.

"We can't tell them… they'll never believe us." Tom spoke quietly, trying not to show his movements too much, even as they approached warily. "What happened?" he asked openly, brow furrowed in dismay, his expression speaking of the horror of the situation.

"Someone heard him screaming in the early hours of the morning," one of the officers revealed. "When we arrived, we found him here, in the same condition as the victims from the previous attacks."

"Um…" Huck began warily, worried about the response his query would gain as he continued, "the other victims… are they… are they all there?"

"I beg your pardon?" The policeman seemed far from amused, but Huck and Tom didn't waver.

"Just answer the question," Tom pressured, almost pleadingly.

"Well, if you _must_ know such a bizarre fact… one of them is gone."

Huck cringed. "Which one?"

"_What_? What does it matter which one was stolen?"

"Please, it's important…" Tom couldn't stop the slight despair that began to lace his voice as he met gazes with the senior officer, one he recognised to be called Lloyd.

Lloyd cocked his head. "It was one of the women…"

"Miss Fletcher, the fifth victim?"

Lloyd nodded in confirmation. "Just up and vanished. We think the murderer… came back to claim the body for some devilish reason. Poor Lancaster probably tried to fight him off, and paid for it with his life."

Tom and Huck nodded grimly. It was as they thought… which meant that their fears were coming into being. Young Miss Amy Fletcher hadn't been stolen… the dark-hailed beauty had been turned by their original culprit, more than likely, and had made her own way out of the offices of Mr. Lancaster, killing him on the way, probably to add to her own strength until she could find shelter.

Looking down with a frown on the poor man's body, Huck looked back up to Lloyd and said confidently, "We'll catch him."

"Of course we will," Lloyd growled. "We can't have some sick bastard like this on the streets. There'll be hell to pay with the masses if it gets out we have no clue who he is."

Tom sighed, running a hand through his hair, before he said, "Is there any way we could find a record of newcomers to the city?"

Lloyd shrugged miserably. "People come and go every day, Agent Sawyer. It's a busy city, New York… always somethin' goin' on. Trying to track down arrivals is like… needles in a haystack. A constantly _changing_ stack, at that."

Huck scratched the back of his head pensively. "What about foreigners? Foreigners at dock? Would there be any way to track _those_ kinda folk?"

"Maybe… but you'd have to check around that area for the dock master; speak with captains of ships who've arrived recently to see what kinda passengers they've had. They're always bringing in strange types of people from all over." Lloyd's gaze became clouded with irritation. "Should be a law against it all."

Tom and Huck nodded subconsciously, and uttered their thanks before shuffling off to head towards the docks, calling a carriage as they hit the street, and climbing in. As they went, they talked over their strategy discreetly, so as not to be overheard by the rather stoic driver.

"We've gotta be extra careful now there's two of 'em," Tom was saying as he shifted in his seat. "The book said somethin' about hypnotism. When we find out who and where they are, we've gotta make sure not to make eye contact, or we'll be at risk."

"It frightens me that you remember all this stuff, Tom," Huck teased as he gazed to his friend from his own perch. "You recall the strangest things." He laughed. "But it sure comes in handy sometimes!"

When they reached the dock, after paying their driver, the two of them headed off along the promenade to try and find captains to converse with as to who their vampire could be…

* * *

"Not much of a name though, is it?" Huck muttered, looking down at the page where Tom had jotted notes. "_Russoff_… what kind of name is that?"

"It's European, most likely," Tom offered confidently as they opened the door to their hotel room. There had been a message for them at the desk, from headquarters in Washington, asking of their progress. They had cabled back prizing them of their progress, but… had 'neglected' to include the finer, supernatural-influenced details. "And we got a vague description, so we know what we're lookin' for now, at least."

"It's better than what we had… which was next to nothin'." Huck nodded and slipped off his jacket, still holding the small book in his hand. Tom's handwriting was always better than his own, which was why the younger – and more learned – spy always took the notes. He looked over the description in question. "Dark hair and eyes; tall; rough demeanour." Shrugging, he added sceptically, "A little vague though, ain't it?"

"Like you said, Huck, it's better than nothin'," Tom said, and gazed around. "I'm gonna go down and get us somethin' to eat. I'll be back in a while." With that, he left the room, and Huck propped himself on the edge of his bed, looking down at the notes curiously. He chewed on his bottom lip gently as he thought it all over, and leaned back against the headboard for a while, his boots now rested on the mattress. Cleanliness was nowhere in his priorities right now, and he barely noticed the two light stains he was leaving on the blankets.

As he sat there, a light rain started to fall from the darkening sky, and clouds rumbled with approaching thunder. The lightning was slow in following, but it wanly lit the heavens as it threatened. Huck subconsciously ignited a lamp without taking his eyes from the notes, even as running feet could be heard coming closer to the room. He knew that stride…

Tom flung himself into the room, eyes wide with either intrigue or fear – or perhaps an odd mix of both – and he declared, "I saw her!"

Huck quirked a brow up near his hairline, and asked, "Saw _who_?"

Tom fumbled into the room, nearly falling over one of the bags they had brought with them in his haste to get to the foot of Huck's bed, leaning on the frame as he repeated, "I saw _her!_" Shaking his head, he revealed, "_Amy Fletcher_!"

"_What_?" Huck shot up from the bed. "Where? When? _What_?" Shaking his head, he put the notebook down before he hit himself with it, and grabbed a hold of Tom, repeating clearly "Where?"

"She was standing outside the door, _staring_ at me like some kinda wraith!" Tom said, pulling himself free of Huck's steadying grip and moving briskly to the window. He looked out of it as he said, "She was so pale… but she had blood on her lips, and her eyes… god her eyes were red like fire."

With a yell, he cast himself back from the window, even as bats flocked outside it, and wide-eyed, the two agents stared into the moving cloud amidst the falling rain.

A face… there was a face amongst the small fangs and fluttering wings… and it was _smiling_ at them.

It was Amy Fletcher.

"Jesus Christ," Huck cursed, and stumbled backwards, fumbling to grab one of his pistols from its holster, when Tom failed to. He just kept staring, in shock or horror… or awe.

"Tom, get away from the window!" Huck bellowed at him, and when his friend failed to move, he fired the shot anyway, the bullet flying an inch over his partner's shoulder and smashing into the window, outward into the flock, which wailed and swarmed away. The rain fell _into_ the room now as a few shouts were heard from down the hall, and Huck quickly put his gun back, even as the landlord cast himself into the room, fury in his eyes, proclaiming about property damage and reimbursement.

"You'll get paid for the repairs!" Huck yelled at him, and shoved him out of the room as politely as possible with further assurances as to his concerns. Walking back to the window, he grabbed Tom roughly, and hauled him around, shaking him. "Wake up, dammit! What's the matter with you?"

Tom blinked rapidly and then shook his head fiercely, pulling a face as though he had just awoken from a doze. "Sorry… sorry," he rambled quietly. "What… is she gone?"

"Yeah, she's gone. I had to shoot at her through the window, hence the breakage and commotion, but I told you to _move_, Tom. Why didn't you _move_?"

Tom looked from the shattered and ruined window to his friend, with troubled eyes. "You… I-I didn't hear you."

Huck's hands gripped onto Tom harder, and he commanded eye contact with the tone in his voice, "Tom… remember her _eyes_. Don't look in her eyes, remember? You told me that. She'll… she'll do somethin' to you. You're the expert on this. Just… _don't_ do it, okay?"

Tom nodded with another apology, looking more ashamed than anything else, even as Huck was pulling on his jacket again, and pushing his hat onto his head. He tossed Tom's to him, and then claimed his rifle. Tom picked his up from under the bed, and after checking for bullets and supplying themselves with extras, they started to head out the door, pushing past the people who had gathered. Huck practically growled at them for their 'interest', and they shifted from around them like a parting wave.

"The church…" Tom began in a rushed voice. "We have to get to the church."

* * *

Tom stared at the cross for a long time, even as the Father assured him he take it. They had told him only of a dark evil, and said they had needed protection. The man had seemed only too willing to help in the name of the Lord, and had given them whatever they had asked for. Holy water, crosses… they had some of each in their pockets, tucked away and hidden from view.

Even as he thanked the man and turned to leave, the Father grabbed his hand and slipped something into it. Tom faltered as the holy man walked away, wondering if he had known all along what was happening… before looking down into his uncurling hand.

A crucifix on a chain.

* * *

Huck pushed out into the downpour again, saying over the din to his partner, "You think he'll be out tonight? In this?" He indicated skyward with the barrel of his Winchester, and his partner nodded vacantly.

"Yeah… he'll need to feed, and so will she." Gazing around, the younger man looked grim and cautious. "Besides… she seemed quite interested in us, don't you think? She might be followin' us."

"Oh you always know exactly how to comfort me, Tom," Huck grumbled in light humour, and the two moved away from the church and into the dark streets of empty New York. Only drunks and street-women were out tonight, but even these were few, as if the atmosphere were too intense and heavy for them… combined with the weather, it was quite a deterrent.

"If you want _my_ opinion, which I know you do, even if you don't ask for it," Huck began with a chuckle, rain running off the peak of his hat, "I think Amy seemed more interested in one of us than the other, personally."

Tom looked down at him with a frown, seeming to understand exactly what was intended by that statement. Lightning flashed overhead, and just on the tip of a roof's edge at the end of the street, they saw a flutter of bats. "There!" Huck indicated with a jab of his hand in its direction. "C'mon!" He took off at a brisk run, with Tom right on his heels.

As they ran, neither of them noticed the pale and beautiful figure up near the roof of the church, red eyes piercing through the foul weather at the two young men.

**_To Be Continued…_**


	4. Part Four

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed Part Three. Appreciate it. And now for the conclusion of this story, Part Four. Hope it's satisfactory, and watch in the future for a continuation of this potential pre-movie series. Thanks!

* * *

Winchester held tightly and reassuringly in his hand, Tom followed Huck to where the bats had vanished. The building appeared abandoned, which had them on high alert at once. There was a _high_ possibility this was a trap, and that intimidated the two men. After all, the odds _seemed_ even… but they were in fact very much in their enemy's favour. Two vampires against two spies was hardly fair, regardless of weapons.

"We don't have a choice," Huck whispered to his partner at the doorway, as the two stared into the gloom and shadow. They could make out faint outlines of an old lobby, with dusty, web-ridden furniture, and even candles and lamps. There were some blankets in the corners, as if people had been sheltering in the old building… until very recently. There was a liquor bottle, still with liquid inside. They had fled, whoever they had been.

Fled, or been killed.

Hesitantly, the two spies entered the scene, pulling their hats from their heads so they had a better visual of the place, and gazed around warily, their guns poised and fingers at the triggers readily should they need to act quickly.

Tom, for one, felt his heart racing like a steam engine in his chest. He swallowed dryly, feeling the difficulty he had in doing so. They could be in the shadows at that very moment, waiting to pounce. All it would take was a moment, and they would be ambushed. Russoff and Amy were here somewhere… and they had never seen the former before.

Tom recalled how Amy had simply been standing at that doorway, as if she had been wary to enter, red eyes like pools of blood, simply staring intently, the tips of fangs just visible behind crimson lips. Her skin had been pale but wet with rain, and her hair had been hanging limply around her face, soaked with the weather. Her dress had been thinned by the moisture that had clung to it, but it was her gaze Tom had noticed more than anything; the way it had bored into him. It had made his blood run cold, and calmed his heart at the same time. He knew now that she had been trying to trance him, and he was grateful to whatever had caused him to run to tell Huck. Perhaps it had been the landlady's scream that had alarmed the two of them, and startled them out of their staring.

Whatever it was, he couldn't help but feel that those eyes were never far away, watching him and trying to capture him again.

There was a slight rustling at the edge of the room, where a dark doorway could be made out by its frame. As they watched, a trail of white flittered in and out of view, followed by an icy and whispery laugh. The end of the skirts disappeared like the hands of a ghost, and the two spies warily followed, weapons primed and ready.

Tom and Huck shivered from the cold more than anything else, soaked through to the skin, and even their hair was wet. Their hats had only been away from their heads as they had stepped out of the church, but it had been enough to drench them. Tom shook his bangs subconsciously from his eyes as he moved, the rain dripping down his face in small rivers that toppled from his chin to the floor.

When he first heard the whisper, it was so quiet and cold that he shuddered, as if an icy hand had trailed up his spine. He nearly gasped, but refrained, hearing it again.

She was calling his name… how did she know his name?

_"Tom… come to me, Tom… I'm waiting for you…"_

Tom closed his eyes, trying to shut out the voice, even as Huck said quietly, "We're an easy target together… we should split up and try to tackle one each." With a pat on his friend's shoulder, he added, "If you need help, just yell, and I'll do the same." Gazing to his partner, he emphasised his continuation, "Good luck."

_No, don't leave, dammit_, Tom thought in a panic as Huck drew away into the darkness, the shadows enveloping him and swallowing him from view. In a heartbeat, he was gone, and Tom was alone. He wished he had spoken his demand aloud, and looked around, whirling at the slightest noise and cursing his racing heart and wild fear all of a sudden, feeling very much the cornered animal in a hunt.

Forcing his hands to steady as they levelled the rifle around the next corner, he saw a spectral outline of a figure, and saw the glow of her red eyes, a sharp and fearsome contrast to the innocent white of her dress. She had been ready for her own funeral, he knew… when they had left Lancaster's office, he had said her family were hurrying into preparations for her farewell from the world.

She stood there, staring at him, and he paced closer to her, seeing her darkly beautiful and pale features illuminated in a flash of lightning that sent the whole corridor into a false day for just a few seconds. She smiled at him seductively, a harsh perversion of sweetness and youth.

"Tom…" she whispered without moving her mouth, something that caused him to shudder slightly. "Come to me, Tom… I've been waiting for you." Her voice traced down the corridor like a breeze, and brushed over him as if it were ice, chilling him for a moment before he felt very warm. With another dry swallow, he eyed her carefully, trying not to meet her gaze directly lest she trap him as she had minorly before. This time, when alone with her in such confined spaces, it could cost him not only his life, but his soul.

"Come to me…"

_Don't do it… don't listen to her. Stay back. Stay away from her._

Regardless of his thoughts, he found his feet slowly and steadily carrying his body towards her, though his weapon was still trained on her. There was a slight tremor to his hold now, and the weapon rattled very lightly in his hands. He cursed the action, and he looked to her, her voice reverberating like ominous music through his body.

He looked into her eyes…

"Come to me…"

As he closed the distance between the two of them, her hand snaked out slowly and gracefully, with the dramatic gesture of a dancer, and touched to the barrel of the rifle… pushing it gently downwards, and away from her body, no longer a danger. Tom tried to fight her, finding himself unable, and screamed inside, wishing Huck hadn't left him like he had. He prayed he would come back… come back in time to do something. His limbs wouldn't respond like he wanted them to, and he only gave a slight whimper as she loosened his hand from around the rifle altogether.

It clattered to the ground, the noise drowned out by a boom of thunder like cannon fire, and a flash of lightning showed her eyes were no longer red… they were an earthly brown, soothing and almost compassionate as she turned him gently to the wall, pushing him against it carefully and leaning against him, her face always close to his. No breath issued from her lips, making her death all the more painfully obviously, and he knew there to be no heartbeat in her chest.

All of a sudden, he didn't care. Though deep down inside of his mind, he screamed to get away, he simply stood there, with her in front of him, lightly pinning him to the wall behind them.

Her eyes traced over his face, and she purred lightly. Tom stared right back at her, that small corner of his mind that was free of shadow trying to force his eyes away, with little success.

_No… this is wrong._

She leaned into him, pressing her lips to his in a deep and hungry kiss, cold and deadly. He couldn't pull away.

_This is **wrong**!_

Suddenly, he seemed to emerge from under the fog that had claimed his mind, almost as if he were rising from deep water and taking that deep breath that filled the lungs, and with a growl of disgust, he forced her viciously away, making her almost stumble. Her grace kept her upright, and she snarled as he collapsed against the wall a little way, panting and avoiding her gaze.

"I know what you're doing," he said to her hurriedly, even as she started to pace seductively forwards.

"Really now," she hissed, "resisting me is pointless… and pathetic." She laughed eerily, the sound echoing around the walls and assaulting his ears. "But amusing nonetheless."

She stood before him, as if waiting for him to lift his eyes so she could entrance him again… only to be disappointed.

Clearly she didn't like losing, and with a ferocious snarl becoming a lion, grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and heaved him from the wall and ground, hurling him through the air. He gave a yell, and braced himself for impact, slamming into the far wall and smashing down on a table. Wincing, he started to lift himself shakily from the ground, back and head stinging and throbbing from the impact into the two surfaces, even as a hand came down around his throat under his jaw, and lifted him effortlessly from the ground. He was thrust against the wall, and he gasped as she tightened her grip somewhat.

"What I would give you is eternal life," she growled. "But instead you fight me… you do not understand the great gift I can share with you."

He tried to tell her his – none too polite – opinion, only to find his voice wasn't working. Her grip had tightened again. She pulled him closer to her and angled his head slightly, even as he winced and closed his eyes so tight that colours danced behind them. He made a small noise which turned into a full groan of displeasure as she licked blood from the side of his head where he had hit the table, sending a shiver of nausea through his body.

"I will _make_ you understand," she hissed down his ear before giving a snarl, and Tom whimpered, feeling fangs brush his throat, before a deafening crack of gunfire resonated through the corridor, and she screamed. Tom felt the impact in her body and gave a yell as she released him, hitting the wall behind him for stability more than anything else, even as another shot slammed into Amy's vampiric body, making her wail and try to scramble away.

Someone charged into her, barrelling her bodily to the ground as she snarled, and Tom vaguely saw something rammed into her chest with the force of a hammer. She screamed long and hard, a bloodcurdling sound, and her eyes widened, losing their red hue. Tom stared down at her in horror as she bared her fangs, and then started to decay, her human pallor returning to her, but in its deathly shade. Her lips paled again, and her eyes clouded over with true death.

Huck stood from the ground, panting and looking rather shocked at what he had just done, and gasped out, "Well… seems those stories were more accurate than I thought." He laughed dryly and in surprise, the wooden stake protruding from Amy Fletcher's chest. His eyes turned to Tom, who regained some of his composure long enough to blink in shock.

"Took you long enough," he breathed after a while, and Huck grinned.

"I had to make sure she was distracted before I made my move."

"Made… made your _move_?" Tom's eyes narrowed in understanding. "You were close the whole time, weren't you?"

"You bet I was," Huck said sternly, picking up the two Winchesters and holding them carefully. "Damn lucky I was too, or you'd be joinin' her, I'll bet. What the hell were you thinkin'?"

Tom shook his head, using the sleeve of his coat to wipe the blood from his brow and temple as he took his gun back from Huck. "I wasn't. I _couldn't_." Sighing, he shrugged. "Thanks."

Huck nodded and patted Tom on the arm, and together, with one last glance back at the dead vampire, they started off to look for their main adversary.

* * *

Knowing how close they had come to failure, Huck and Tom stayed close. Though the older spy was glad his idea had worked in ridding them of the female, he had watched the whole ordeal with a knot in his stomach. Tom had truly been helpless against her, especially when she had had him hypnotised like she had. He had complied so easily… that had terrified Huck. Seeing his best friend and partner so near to a terrible fate had turned his insides to ice, and he had waited impatiently and worriedly for his chance to kill her.

Though he still felt disgusted at driving a stake through her still heart, thus destroying her, he knew Amy Fletcher had found some kind of peace after that. He hoped she would be able to rest now that she had been released from her hell.

_He's got to be around here somewhere… watching us, no doubt. Waiting for the right moment to stri–_

Huck's thoughts were cut short as he was hauled from the ground and tossed like a rag doll across the room, smashing through a glass door and out into the ruined garden of the building, shards raining with water down around him as he hit the ground with Tom's cry for accompaniment.

When he hit the hard ground, he rolled once, and then lay still.

* * *

"Huck!"

Tom turned at once, raising the Winchester and letting off a shot that barely missed its target before he too was hurled an unbelievable distance and with shocking ease. The rifle fell from his hand as he was flung through the air, and he covered his head as he hit an old armchair and toppled it over as he crashed to the ground, rolling to a messy stop some five feet afterwards, with a groan.

He could hear the echoing footsteps as the enemy approached, and forced his eyes to focus as he lifted them from the ground, staring up into the face of the vampire; Russoff.

He had a dark, almost tanned complexion, though it carried its own deathly pallor, especially around the lips and eyes, the latter of which were so dark brown they were almost black. They flickered red as he slowly approached the fallen spy. Falling around his brow like feathers from wings, so graceful and almost innocent, were wispy and straight locks of brown hair, simple in their style, and covering his entire head like a shroud. The face itself was handsome, and carrying an appearance of a man of some forty years, with a light facial hair around the jaw, defining the strong lines of his features, and the sharp angle of his nose. His heavy brow shaded his eyes in a frightening manner, and he clenched one powerful fist as he approached like a predator upon prey. His clothes were black in the entirety, and all but his hands and face blended eerily with the shadows all around, save for when lightning flared outside, where Tom could still see Huck lying prone on the dead grass, his back to them.

Tom moved to rise, but Russoff moved forward and slammed his boot into the American's stomach, lifting him up off the floor, and across the floor a little more until he lightly collided with a table. The items atop it clattered, and a vase fell to the floor, smashing mere inches from Tom's legs. Pained, with narrowed eyes, Tom looked up, catching his breath.

"You're Russoff," he managed in a gasp, holding a hand to his stomach.

"Correct," the man snapped abruptly, his accented voice speaking of intelligence and experience, as well as travel and perhaps wealth. He had a noble sound to his words as he continued, "And your kind have done nothing but pester me since I arrived, with your weapons and your _curiosity_."

Growling, with another moment of glowing red eyes, he showed his fangs. "It ends here tonight… as I crush the life from you and your little friend."

Tom returned with a growl of his own, and as fast as he could manage, he tore a pistol from his waist and fired it into Russoff's chest, shoving the man back with the impact, even as he righted his body in such a way as to pull the second gun free and fire that as well.

Every other bullet hit the vampire, and made him wail in an otherworldly pitch, before he vanished in bat form, swarming around the room before flocking to the ceiling, which was covered in shadow. All fell still, and Tom winced, knowing he had little bullets left in the Colts.

"We know what you are…" Tom began as confidently as he could manage, rising to his feet a little unsteadily.

"And you think you know how to destroy me…" Russoff's laugh carried like wind around the room, making Tom turn in all directions to try and locate the owner of the voice. His pistols found two different angles, and he kept them wide for better coverage of the area around him as he kept moving. "You are all the same. So weak and so arrogant." Another chuckle rattled from everywhere overhead. "Especially you Americans…"

Tom pulled a face at that, and moved to look to Huck out the broken door, in which he heard Russoff say, "He's not going anywhere."

A hand grabbed him from behind, spinning him around before a sharp backhand landed across the side of Tom's face, stunning him long enough for Russoff to jerk one of the spy's arms to make him yell and drop the gun to save his arm from being broken like a twig. A foot kicked the other one free; before a hand latched in the lapels of Tom's jacket and shirt, whirling him around again with enough force to make him dizzy, before tripping him to the floor.

Tom landed hard on his back with a gasp, and Russoff pinned him with ease. The masculine features were close to his own, and another growl rattled from deep in his throat as the fangs were shown in startling clarity as lightning flashed anew.

"And neither are you…"

The words were more a vicious hiss than anything else, and one of Russoff's large hands grabbed around Tom's throat, pushing down to grip fiercely, as the other grabbed at the collar of his shirt, tearing it to the side and ripping the fabric to expose the throat more fully. Tom tried to struggle; working up to forcing his body into Russoff to shove him off… before he heard the deep snarl of disgust and felt the hand tug away from his throat like it had been burned.

"Hey!" a voice yelled weakly from the doorway as Russoff recoiled slightly, still pinning Tom for the most part, and looking to the door, Huck was revealed to be leaning against it with one hand, drenched with rain and somewhat muddy. "I've got somethin' for you, you bastard."

And then, with one powerful thrust of his other arm, Huck sent a glass bottle hurtling towards the already startled Russoff, who was hit full on in the chest with the container. It shattered with the impact, and he hissed and wailed, writhing, even as Tom took the opportunity to pull something from within his coat and thrust it up between himself and the still-pinning vampire as the holy water burned him.

He snarled at the cross aimed at him, and moved to bat at it, before Tom gave a growl of his own, and smashed it into Russoff's face with a blinding impact, feeling him topple away. He scrambled as far away from the struggling and infuriated vampire as he could, and managed to practically fall upright, landing against the wall near Huck, where he was leaning in recuperation after being hurled through the door.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, you?"

Tom nodded. "I'll be fine." Touching a hand to his partially-exposed chest, he felt what had frightened and disgusted Russoff in the first place. The small golden crucifix glinted brightly in the light for a moment, and Tom smiled wanly, reassured by its light weight and powerful presence, despite its size.

"Should we get the son of a bitch?"

"Oh _hell_, yes," Huck grumbled, and he and Tom threw themselves back into action even as Russoff reclaimed his footing, looking every part the rampaging animal. His hair was wild and spiked at the tips, like blades, and his fangs were more prominent than ever, his eyes blazing like the very fires of hell.

Huck had grabbed his Winchester from near the doorway, and cocked it one-handed, letting off a shot that grazed Russoff's shoulder near his neck, causing a slight spray of blood that made the vampire hiss in distaste and concentrate on the shorter agent. He started to advance, when a large book hit him in the side of the head, thrown by Tom, and Russoff stumbled, looking down at a heavy copy of The Bible, which had assaulted him. Tom flashed him a cheeky grin, before bracing himself, even as the bats swarmed towards him, exploding out of Russoff's body like ammunition.

Huck fired another shot into Russoff, slamming him in the main fleshy part of his shoulder near his chest, making his recoil. A number of his bats faltered before the rest collided with Tom forcefully, nearly downing him. He gave a cry, and swatted at them as they tried to scratch and bite at his flesh or his eyes, which he kept shaded with one arm. One latched onto his flailing hand viciously, and he winced at the pain, before slamming it into the table nearby, ignoring the soon-to-be-bruise that would form from the impact against his own fist. With his brief freedom, he tore his own bottle of holy water from his jacket, and pulled it open, sloshing the liquid up into the air, and into the bats, which screamed in agony as they were burned, being – essentially – part of the vampire himself.

Russoff gave a screech like a banshee, and recalled the bats. They flocked back to him, abandoning Tom, who stumbled, and nearly toppled over the table he had impacted not long ago. His hand throbbed impressively, and he had a few scratches down one side of his face from the claws, as well as on his knuckles from the bat that had gripped. But they didn't faze him, and he surged forward as Huck fired another measured shot into Russoff's stomach, throwing him back but not down. Blood spilled briefly from the wound, and the vampire went into a rage, his coat billowing out from around him seemingly of its own accord as the storm broke out into a furious tempest. Rain and wind buffeted the house fiercely, and thunder rumbled deafeningly in an almost constant crescendo. Lightning flashed like non-stop flares from above, and illuminated the combat for seconds at a time.

Russoff looked very much like a giant bat with his coat swarming around him as it was, and he opened his mouth to growl loudly, fangs revealed in their monstrous length and ferocity.

Huck was running out of bullets, and even as he fired another, clipping Russoff in the left leg, Tom darted past unnoticed, making for his own weapon, only to have the vampire move so quickly it was as if in the blink of an eye. He knocked Tom's weapon aside, and threw him back. Huck refrained from firing until Tom was clear, and his next shot slammed Russoff square in the centre of his chest, throwing him back a little into the wall with a dull thud.

Tom landed painfully, slamming into and _through_ the table where he had knocked over the vase earlier, cutting the cry short that came with the impact, and forcing himself to his feet awkwardly. He stumbled and shook his head, and looked over at Russoff, who was advancing on Huck, who had apparently run dry on rifle ammunition. He was moving to reload as the vampire closed in on him with a cackle, and Tom grimaced angrily.

Looking down, he nearly cried out in triumph, before he claimed his prize and started forward.

The storm continued to rage as Russoff latched onto Huck's hair, yanking his head back so hard that the breath was stolen from the spy, and the vampire literally ripped the weapon from his hands. He cast it aside nonchalantly, almost hitting Tom in the process, who ducked the flying weapon, which subsequently landed on the downed armchair safely.

Huck tried to fight, but Russoff landed a stunning blow on him that made him fall frighteningly quiet, his chest heaving with the force of struggled breathing.

Giving a growl of his own as Russoff bowed over to feed from his partner, Tom brought his weapon over his head and jumped onto the vampire, tearing him free before he plunged the weapon down into his back.

Immediately Russoff gave a howl of agony, and dropped Huck heavily to the floor as he writhed, trying to grab the assaulting weapon from his back. Managing to flip Tom off him in the process with a jerk of his arm, he twisted this way and that, trying to grab at the large splinter of the table Tom had destroyed. It had dug into his back, but still protruded.

Tom and Huck scrambled upright, and together, they drove the vampire back with twin yells, watching as he crashed into the wall with enough force to stab the makeshift stake clean through his body, piercing his chest and stabbing out his body a little at the tip, for them to see. They stared as he fell quiet, Russoff's eyes staring down at the object that had pierced his heart so savagely, driven into his back by the taller spy. He looked to his two combatants, eyeing them almost with surprise and a flicker of respect before he craned his head back with a strangled cry, his fangs bared.

In a flash of lightning and an almighty crack of thunder, his body started to decay, trickling away in streams of ghastly ash, before he literally exploded in a cloud of it, only to be torn about by the suddenly-dying breeze.

Even as the stake fell with a clatter to the floor, Tom and Huck blinked, the storm starting to retreat somewhat. They stared down at the grainy remains of their adversary, and then to each other.

For a long while, there was silence, before Huck chuckled in disbelief. Wavering a little on his feet, he grabbed onto Tom and looked him in the eye. "Our very first vampire… not bad, huh?" Then he broke into triumphant laughter, and Tom joined him, collapsing into a dilapidated chair next to him, slouching in it in exhaustion and pulling in deep breaths to recover from the fight.

No one would ever believe this back home…

* * *

It was the morning of the day following the battle, and the sun was high in the sky over New York. The horses stamped their feet impatiently, four of the large animals snorting and tossing their dark manes as they stood with their carriage behind them.

Tom and Huck emerged from their hotel, having settled up details with the landlord for the reimbursement as to the window, and they had their bags over their shoulders, and their hats in their hands.

The driver hopped down from the carriage cheerily, and greeted them. "Lovely day, ain't it?"

Tom chuckled and nodded. "Sure is." They handed their bags over to the man, who made about storing them for the agents, and Huck and Tom looked around in admiration of the city. Somehow, it seemed purer today. They looked to each other with a smile, and then around at the ignorant crowds who were unaware as to what had happened the previous night.

"What'll we tell them in our reports?" Huck was asking as they climbed into the carriage. They had cleared up with the police the previous night, giving them the address where they had fought Russoff. They had given the man's name, and nothing more, leaving the officers to come to whatever conclusions they would. After all, if they wanted to jump to the suspicion that Huck and Tom were to blame, there was the small issue of the murders prior to their arrival to contend with. Whatever happened, they would find a way to explain it.

"We'll figure somethin' out," Tom assured him, sitting in his seat and slouching slightly. He was more than a little sore, and some sleep on the journey back to Washington wouldn't go unappreciated. Huck was very much the same, though with less physical evidence. Whereas his injuries were more bruises and battered bones, Tom had the cuts and gash to his head to pain him as well. Nevertheless, they were comforted. They could rest assured that Russoff was gone. No murders of the same nature would be happening in the area again… at least not for some time.

As the driver climbed back into his seat, he whipped the horses into a trot and on their way. The rocking motion of the carriage was somehow comforting to the two tired spies, and before long, they were both asleep in their respective seats.

Needless to say, it would be a case that would stay in their memories for some time.

Of course, not that they thought they'd ever see a vampire again…

The report was going to be interesting to say the least.

**_Fin_**


End file.
